She refused to think about Dominic. … There had never been any future for them. No matter that she loved him. No matter that he had followed her through time. There was no place for them to come together.
It is impossible to directly access the imaginations of others, to know precisely if and how an imagined 'irreal' future is felt by an individual or shared by a 'collective', or to know if one has shared it oneself.
Rosemary, brown bosom, flaming dress, flashing ring, high-heeled vigorously over Crabbe's large drawing-room as the sun set setting out nuts and pretzels, perking up nodding flowers.
A wave of emotion overcame her when she thought about her son who was killed in battle.
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